


Land Ho!

by Jetainia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Arranged Marriage, Don't copy to another site, F/F, F/M, Female Phil Coulson, Fluff, Kinky boots au, M/M, Mary Poppins AU, Multi, Oneshot collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-06-28 02:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19802611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jetainia/pseuds/Jetainia
Summary: Various oneshots written for the MC4A Shipping War.





	1. Pondering to Oblivion

The room was dark, hidden from the outside by thick curtains and tinted windows. Only the tiniest sliver provided light to see by, but it was enough to provide vague silhouettes. Three people lay spread out on the large bed as outside the world woke up. There was no waking up in the darkened room—two of the occupants had only recently fallen asleep.

Loki held up his hand in front of him and stared up at it in the dim light. Tony was next to him and Bucky lay on Tony’s other side. His skin went from pale white to deep blue as he pondered idly on nothing in particular. His life had become very strange in recent times—wonderful, but strange. Odin had banished him from Asgard, thinking that the same method he had used with Thor would work on his adopted son.

Loki let out a snort as he thought about that. As if Odin paid enough attention to him to know how to properly punish him. This punishment was less of a punishment and more of a gift. On Midgard, he was not surrounded by the Manliest of Men who preferred to bash heads together than talk civilly. Here, he had people who valued intelligence around him.

He moved his gaze from his shifting hand to the two people next to him. He also had people who liked him for who he was—who _loved_ him despite what he had done. Loki sighed and let his arm drop, picking up the soft bear that Tony had created for him. The bear was able to withstand the cold temperatures of a frost giant without losing any of its cuddling properties or freezing into a block of ice.

He smiled as he held the teddy bear close to his chest and closed his eyes. He was tired and it was probably time for him to try and follow the examples of Tony and Bucky. Loki closed his eyes and let his mind drift in the darkness towards oblivion.


	2. Steal and Destroy

The house was silent and unoccupied—the perfect mix for a thief. A dark figure climbed the wall surrounding the house and slipped closer to the building. Unseen, the figure then crawled through a window that had previously been closed and locked. After that, there was no outward sign that anything untoward was happening in the shut-up house of a local wealthy merchant.

Tonks grinned to themself as they crept through the quiet house. They had been watching this house for several weeks, waiting for the opportunity to sneak inside and take a closer look at the fancy jewellery Mrs. Hutton bedecked herself with when out and about. The pieces that had taken true craftmanship, Tonks would leave alone, but the rest would be losing nothing from being pounded out of their current shape and reworked into something else.

The skeleton staff had left several hours ago and there would be no one else arriving until after dawn. Tonks made their way carefully down the hall and towards the master bedroom—there was no point in being reckless. Even if it was almost assured that no one would catch them, there was always the chance of Lady Luck turning away.

Mrs. Hutton’s trinkets were hidden away in a wall safe that was easy to get into if you had the skills and the time—Tonks had both. It took a matter of moments to find the safe and then more than a few minutes to break into it. With nary a sound, the safe swung open and revealed the small boxes that held the majority of Mrs. Hutton’s collection. Her best pieces, of course, would have gone with her on the trip to the countryside but that was fine by Tonks. There was plenty here that wouldn’t be missed too badly.

They quickly sorted through the pieces by the light of the moon shining through the window. Those that bore a family symbol or were too beautiful to be destroyed stayed behind, everything else was wrapped up in muffling cloth and stowed away in the various pockets of Tonks’ suit. When they were sure they had everything they wanted, Tonks quickly reorganised the safe so that the empty boxes were to the back and shut the safe before slipping back out of the silent house.

Once out, it was only a matter of climbing over the wall again and retrieving their street clothes from their hiding place. When Tonks walked out of the alley and onto the street, they looked like a respectable gentleman making his way home after a night out at the pub and the few patrols they encountered didn’t look twice at the thief.

Lupin looked up from the dagger he was cleaning when Tonks arrived home. “Good night?” he asked, and Tonks nodded, pulling out the results of their heist to add to the collection of weapons that was currently spread all over the table.

“Won’t need to pull another job for a while with what we’ll get from this one. Anyone ask you to go on the prowl?”

“Not tonight.” He grinned and put down the now clean dagger before gesturing to the jewellery that needed to be made unrecognisable before they could be fenced. “Shall we?”

“We shall.” Tonks turned to the fire and put a full pan of water over it to boil before settling down at the table and beginning the task of destroying Mrs. Hutton’s jewellery—one couldn’t embark on such a job without the aid of tea.


	3. Safekeeping

"You will do this," Odin hissed into his ear as Loki tried to break away.

"Will I?" Loki argued back, already knowing he would have a bruise from his father's grip. "And what will you do if I _don't_?"

"You'll never leave these walls again. I know you sneak out to be among the common people, I know you think you're better than us, I know that you believe you know best, but _you don't_. You will do as I say."

Odin let go as Loki wrenched his arm away. "You know _nothing_."

He stormed away from his father, angry beyond belief at the latest measure the man had decided to take in order to control Loki. The old man never cared about Loki; it was always about Thor, Loki's older and perfect brother—the brother that was allowed to marry for love and not political gain, no matter that it was generally the younger siblings that were granted that freedom.

Loki would not accept being sent off to live quietly as the Lady Freya's husband just because his own family didn't like him and prefer he stay in the shadows—so long as those shadows weren't too deep and able to swallow up their family's pristine reputation. Loki growled to himself as he thought of the demands placed on him and the lack of demands placed on Thor. He loved his brother, but the man was spoiled and arrogant and their parents didn't see anything wrong with that while they saw everything wrong with Loki.

He took a sharp turn to the left into a corridor before slipping into the secret passage that opened there. The palace was riddled with passages and many of them had been forgotten by everyone except the boy who had spent his childhood exploring the place he grew up in when his parents and brother were too busy for him.

There was one place that he could vent and be provided comfort, and it was not within the palace walls.

* * *

The house was empty when he arrived, but he expected that. Bucky would be working out in the fields with the rest of the harvesters. Loki let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him—this small house was more home to him than the large palace he had grown up in. The sturdy, ungilded but intricately carved wooden furniture was more comfortable than the plush furniture that filled the palace.

He collapsed on one of the rocking chairs in front of the dark fireplace and curled his legs up. There was another rocking chair next to him, a small table sat behind him with two chairs tucked under and a pitcher of water covered by a thin piece of muslin cloth. One of the walls was covered in various flowers that Loki himself had painted and added to when he couldn't sleep.

He smiled at the wall while he rocked in the chair. Bucky had caught him drawing on the table in charcoal and, far from being upset, had offered his wall for Loki's use. He had said Loki's art brought more life into his home; it was a far cry from his family's reaction to Loki being talented at drawing and painting.

The small paint tins sitting against the wall invited him to pick them up and start painting—an invitation he quickly accepted. He crossed the short distance and folded down onto the floor, brushing his fingers over the dried paint that was already on the wall before picking up one of the brushes laying nearby.

Bucky found him sitting in front of the wall several hours later staring at the tulips that now adorned it. He gave Loki a kiss on the top of his head before he went to light the oil lamp hanging at the entrance. He returned a few seconds later, sitting down next to Loki and pulling him into a sideways hug.

"You need anything?" he asked quietly.

Loki smiled; that was Bucky—offering but never demanding. He curled into Bucky's side, "I'm good."

"Okay." He was silent for a bit before saying, "I am kind of hungry though, if you think you're good to follow me around."

"Yeah," Loki said after some assessment. "I can do that."

They stood up, Loki holding one of Bucky's wrists lightly as they moved to the small pantry and Bucky started pulling out the stuff for sandwiches. They moved in silence, used to each other's patterns and not needing to talk.

It was after dinner and when they were sitting in the rocking chairs in front of the crackling fire that Loki spoke up. "Odin has arranged a marriage between me and the Lady Freya from Vanaheim."

"And Thor?" Bucky asked.

Loki snorted derisively. "Thor is free to do whatever he wants with no consequences as per usual. He does not require being shipped out to another kingdom in a diplomatic marriage."

"There's room here for two people, we've proven that over the years."

"Are you…" Loki trailed off. The offer was far more than Loki staying a night or a few days when the atmosphere of the palace became too much. This was Bucky saying that Loki could fully leave his toxic family and have somewhere safe to go if he did.

Bucky smiled at him, squeezing the hand that Loki still had circled around his wrist. "My place is always open to you, has been since you threw an apple at me."

"You are far too good to me, Bucky."

"Wrong. This is your home as soon as you decide it is." Bucky stood up and pulled gently on Loki's arm. "Now come on, time for bed."


	4. To Make a Promise

Katie looked at the clock for the tenth time in as many seconds. Alicia wasn't technically late yet, but she was definitely cutting it close; five minutes until they needed to leave and no sign of her girlfriend yet. Hopefully—if Alicia arrived in time and she said yes when Katie asked her—Katie would be able to call Alicia her fiancée as well as her girlfriend.

The front door opened and Alicia rushed in, pecking Katie on the cheek as she passed by. "Sorry I'm late," she called over her shoulder. "There was a lead on a case that I needed to follow up."

Katie grinned. "Not technically late, Al. You promised you'd be here, I believed you."

"I know you, Katie, you were looking at the clock and fretting." Alicia popped her head out of the bedroom, threading her arms through the sleeves of her shirt.

"Guilty as charged," Katie admitted. "But I didn't doubt you'd be here before we had to leave. You keep your promises, no matter what."

Alicia stepped out of the bedroom, ready for their date in an old, worn, and soft t-shirt and faded jeans. She matched Katie in her Weird Sisters band shirt and cargo pants perfectly, as she always did. Katie grinned and held out her hand which Alicia took gladly.

"Come on, the sun's about to set."

"Lead on."

Katie kissed Alicia and then led the way out the door to the small grassy knoll that was already set out for a picnic. There was a blanket with cushions sitting on it, warm blankets sat to the side for when the sun set and took the warmth with it. Inside the picnic basket was an almost exact replica of their first picnic—a ring hidden in a small box being the only difference.


	5. Jolly Holiday

Phillipa Coulson stepped out of the Banks’ home and smiled when she saw the waiting figure on the street. It had been too long since she had seen Clint, and while the outing earlier that day had been pleasant, Phil had still been working and looking after Jane and Michael. Now, the two children were asleep and she had a few hours to herself.

Clint held out a slightly sooty arm as she approached and she accepted it happily, umbrella in her other hand. They set off walking to no particular destination in silence. Phil went everywhere for her job while Clint stayed in London and looked after the chimneys of the people (and occasionally sending out a signal to Phil if he saw a family he thought she or one of her colleagues could help).

They ended up in one of the many parks in London and stopped in a bandstand. Phil smiled as Clint started humming one of his merry tunes, swaying them to the sound of it as the city slept around them. Theirs was a quiet love, one of simple pleasures and silent gestures. It shouted loudly to those listening in every gesture between them, in the smiles they shared, and the time they always took to spend with each other when they were in each other’s vicinity.

The peace was welcome after corralling young children or sweeping out chimneys all day. A break away from their jobs where they could merely be them. No need to perform magic to entertain energetic kids, no need to worry about where soot might go or the secrets hidden behind closed doors left open for those beneath the keepers.

Phil spun out of Clint’s arms and back into them, leading them into a more purposeful dance as Clint grinned and continued humming. There was no magical band around this time, it was just the two of them. Tomorrow, they’d be back to work—Phil with the Jane and Michael Banks, Clint trailing along to help Phil and spend time with her while occasionally popping off to sweep a chimney or direct his crew.

Tonight, they whirled around the bandstand under the light of the stars. A short jolly holiday shared between the two of them away from their respective duties.


	6. Just Be

Phil ran his hands over the bits and pieces that would eventually become a shoe. Almost his entire life he had wanted to leave behind the family business and pursue his own life. He had even succeeded—had moved to London with his childhood sweetheart with a new job in marketing. He had been recalled to the small town he had just escaped that stunk of cattle farms and tanning leather by the death of his father and the family company needing to be dealt with.

Above his head hung portraits of his ancestors. The Coulsons that had built and controlled Coulson and Sons; the Coulsons that expected him to follow in their footsteps. He had been seven when he first asked his father what would happen if he didn’t want to make shoes. His father had laughed at him and said that he was a right funny kid if he didn’t.

His gaze fell to the factory floor and the shipment of shoes that had been sent back. That shipment had supposed to pay the workers’ wages and now he couldn’t do that. Phil groaned and slumped back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling as he idly spun the chair around with his feet. He straightened as a thought occurred to him. Within moments, he had clattered down the stairs, grabbed a box from the returned shipment, and raced out the door.

* * *

“Will you help me out, Nick?” Phil asked, holding back the desperation he felt as well as he could.

Nick sighed, glancing at the plain but well-made shoes in the open box on the bar in front of them. He gulped down the rest of his beer before saying, “Fine. I’ll help you but unless you find a niche market soon, you’ll be beyond helping.”

With that, he returned to the arcade machines that were his escape from small town life—he held the highest score on every machine. Phil downed his own beer and then left the bar feeling much calmer than he had when he had entered.

The calmness lasted until he heard the sound of a dog whimpering and loud drunken jeers. Without thinking, he rushed into the dark alley and slugged the first laughing face he saw. There was another person fighting the drunken idiots but Phil didn’t pay much attention to them, instead focusing on getting rid of the drunks so he could help the dog. That turned out to be a mistake when a few moments later he felt something hit his head and became closer acquaintances with the ground.

He jerked awake when a wet tongue licked his cheek and a nose shoved itself at his ear. He was in a room covered in purple—purple walls, a purple dressing screen, purple clothes, purple curtains. A dog lay next to him, thumping their tail and seemingly content now that Phil was awake. Phil ran a hand carefully down the dog’s back, wary of any injuries that might have been given by the drunks.

The dog closed its eyes contentedly and accepted the pats as Phil continued staring around the room he found himself in. Aside from all the purple, it appeared to be a dressing room of some kind. There was a shelf dedicated to various wigs, each wig on a different purple wig stand (none of the wigs themselves were purple). There was a large mirror surrounded by lights with various cosmetics placed neatly on the desk in front of it.

Phil himself was lying on a purple lounge that took up one wall of the room with the wig shelves on the other side of the room, the mirror to his left, and a door to his right with racks of clothes and a changing screen on one side. Instead of being blinded by all the purple, Phil actually found himself appreciating it—though he was sure that if it was all one shade instead of the myriad of shades it was, he would think differently.

The door opened and a woman walked in—or no, it was a man in woman’s clothes. The man smiled when he saw Phil awake and patting the dog. “Glad to see you survived my shoe even if my shoe didn’t survive you,” he said.

Phil blinked and then saw the high-heeled boot with the broken heel that had been tossed into a corner of the room. It was purple like almost everything else in the room and had streaks of silver and red running vertical along it. Its partner was sitting next to it, heel intact.

“I’m sorry about your boot,” he said for lack of having anything else to say.

The man waved a hand dismissively. “They never last long. I had hoped I’d be able to wear that pair for longer, but you come to expect the untimely death of your favourite shoes when you dance in them all the time.”

Phil scooped up the broken boot, barely registering the man grabbing a set of clothes from the rack and moving behind the changing screen. The heel had clearly snapped from duress, it had been forced to carry more than the creators had expected—no doubt because a male was wearing it instead of the slim, light-weight women the company had no doubt marketed it towards.

He hummed in thought as he turned the boot around in his hands. A niche market, Nick had said. Phil needed to find a niche market to keep Coulson and Sons alive and running. Could this be the niche market he was looking for?

“I could make you a new pair of boots,” he found himself offering.

The man stepped out from behind the screen, adjusting the sleeves of the red sparkly dress he now wore as he walked over to the wig shelves. “Experienced with making shoes, are we?” he asked as he pulled on a brown bob wig.

Phil shrugged. “It’s in the family.”

“Well then, how could I refuse such an offer? But they had better be purple.” He pointed a lipstick at Phil threateningly before touching up his makeup with it and moving towards the door. “I need to get back out there but feel free to stay and watch the show and we can discuss these new shoes after.”

Then he was gone just as quickly as he had arrived. Phil fiddled with the shoe for a bit longer, transferring his attention to the dog when a nose pushed into his hand. His mind was whirring with ideas about what he could do with the shoe, and the future that was starting to hesitantly light up. Deciding he should probably know the situations the new shoe would be going through, Phil stood up and went out the door, finding himself in the backstage area of a club.

On the stage he could see through the side stage curtains, the man he met was in complete charge of the stage and audience—introducing himself as Lola with his song while the ensemble accompanied him. A niche market indeed, Phil thought. Going by the broken boot he still held in his hand, he doubted anyone was making feminine boots for men—or planning to.

* * *

The day Lola appeared at the Coulson and Sons factory was an interesting one to say the least. Jasper had—once he been embarrassed for flirting with a male he had thought to be female—accused Lola of doing what she did to gain attention from men. To which Lola had smirked and explained that having a gentle touch and being a reflection of them was generally more of a draw to women than oppressing them with masculinity. Plus, she had added after Jasper had started to slink towards the shadows to think, drawing the attention of men and women was merely a plus in Lola’s book—just because she loved women and dressing like one didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the attention of both sexes.

Followed by that was the utter disgust Lola had shown to the mock-up shoes they had created. The boots were sturdy and durable but the most important part—according to Lola—was missing; there was no stiletto heel. It had been back to the drawing board with Lola designing multiple amazing (stiletto) boots and not budging on the need for the heel.

The next day Lola had arrived at the factory in a suit and Phil found himself thrown for a loop. The man looked so uncomfortable in the suit that Phil wondered why he had decided to wear it. The bullying from Jasper and a few other workers answered that question but came at the cost of Lola retreating to the safety of the bathrooms.

Phil leaned against the wall next to the stall Lola was currently occupying. “You know, you shouldn’t listen to Jasper. He’s just being an outspoken bigot.”

There was a choked laugh from the stall. “Him and almost everyone else in the world. I had hoped that it would get better once I didn’t have to pretend for my father anymore, but it’s the same everywhere. He expected me to be a boxer, you know. Win the championships he couldn’t. Follow in his footsteps.”

“I know what that’s like.” Phil gazed around him. He had grown up in this building and couldn’t wait to leave it and the expectations his father heaped upon his shoulders. “But hey, we’re both following out own paths now, yeah? My father would probably be turning in his grave if he knew I was making stiletto heeled boots. I’m not my father, and you’re not yours.”

There was a slight click as Lola unlocked the stall door. She stepped out, still awkward in the suit and with fresh tear tracks on her face, but she was smiling slightly. He held out a hand to Phil. “Well then, Phillip Coulson, not his father’s son, meet Clint Barton, also not his father’s son.”

Phil grinned and shook Clint’s hand. “Let’s make some boots.”

* * *

It was only after Audrey had arrived at the factory with a deed for sale his father had prepared that Phil realised he hadn’t even thought about her and their planned new start in London since he had started working with Lola. It was only when the factory was going to slip out of his hands that he realised how desperately he wanted to keep it and make it his own.

Somewhere along the way, his and Audrey’s dreams had drifted away from each other and no longer aligned. Phil found he didn’t mind the smell of cattle farms and tanning leather. He had a family in this town, people that relied on him and loved him. Audrey tried to drag him away from it, reminding him of their plans, but he didn’t want that anymore.

He looked at Audrey and saw an escape from his father’s expectations. He looked at the Coulson and Sons sign hanging above their heads and saw love and family, laughter and new, outrageous, designs for shoes. Phil smiled sadly at Audrey and shook his head. There was no point in trying to fix what wasn’t broken; they had drifted apart, and so had their desires.

Nat saved him—as she always had, he now realised. She had always been there for him and he for her until he had distanced himself so far from his father that he had removed the factory and the rest of his family from his life in an attempt to be with Audrey and start his own path. He couldn’t help but smile at her glare at Audrey as she pulled him into the factory to see the finished product of their first trial.

Nat saved him again only a few days later when he was about to hire female models for the Milan fashion show they would be presenting their stiletto boots to the world at. Lola was tapping her purple boot encased foot as she arched her eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. Nat was looking at him expectantly, waiting for him to put the phone down and realise that showing a boot for men on women was a stupid idea.

It was Nat who warned Phil of the boxing match between Jasper and Lola—a wager that Jasper no doubt thought would be easy for him to win, and one that Phil knew he had no chance at due to Clint’s father forcing him to box professionally.

It was also Nat who filled the Nat-shaped gap in his life that had formed when he left the factory. He had barely noticed it was there when he was trying to cram Audrey into her space and Nat’s. Now, with Audrey in London and pursuing her marketing career, Phil realised that he had been lying to himself when he said he wanted to leave everything behind and start anew in London.

* * *

Everything was ready. Lola’s Angels were making last minute adjustment to their outfits and makeup. Lola herself was standing at the window and looking at the night sky. Phil stepped up next to her, Nat joining them on Lola’s other side.

“You good?” Phil asked.

Lola looked at him and gave a brittle smile. “I went to see my father.”

And that was all it took to understand. Nat must have understood as well, because she moved at almost the same time he did. Both of them leaned into Clint and looped their arms around him. The bustle behind them of the show preparing faded for a few moments. Now was comfort, and then Lola would become herself again and step out onto the walkway with confidence.

Jasper cleared his throat from behind them and they turned. He grinned and handed Clint his shoes. The man had undergone a transformation after the boxing match and now stood in front of them in his own stiletto boots of blue and bronze, utterly comfortable in his surroundings. Clint grinned back and accepted the purple, red, and silver streaked boots and went to finish getting ready.

Phil expected Jasper to leave then, to get ready for the part he had insisted on having in the show, but he didn’t. Instead his grin turned into a smirk and he held out another pair of boots. It took Phil a moment to realise that Jasper was holding the boots out to _him_ and not Nat. He stared at the boots in mild terror, flicking his gaze to the stage that he had never desired to be upon. He was a man in the shadows type of person; he didn’t enjoy the spotlight.

Nat nudged him and rose an eyebrow when he looked at her. He sighed; clearly he wasn’t going to be getting out of this easily. She nodded approvingly when he took the boots from Jasper and slipped off to where he realised she had her own pair of boots. Apparently, his family had decided to make the Milan Fashion Show a family show by having everyone show off their new boots.

He smiled at that. After he was booted up, he merely sat and watched them. There were the workers who had been like surrogate parents to him while he grew up; the ones who had been excited children with him or slightly weary teenagers. There was Nat, his best friend and someone he now knew he couldn’t live without for very long. And then there was Clint—becoming Lola again and chatting with the Angels.

They were his family. They had all been close to losing their jobs and their second home and it was by working together that they had managed to come this far. It was only by working together that they would continue to move forward.

Nat slipped up beside him and offered her hand, which he gladly took. “Ready?” she asked, eyes twinkling.

He grinned. “As I’ll ever be.” He pulled her into a hug, an acknowledgement that they were back to where they had been before Phil had torn himself away to follow Audrey. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.”


	7. Carry On

The world had gone up in flames only a few years after the Battle of Hogwarts and Voldemort's defeat. Everyone had thought they'd be safe, that there would be no more horror for some time because the nightmare that had stalked their lives had finally been vanquished. Then there had been a wave of magic pouring out of the small village of Mould-on-the-Wold and everything had turned into chaos.

Unspeakables had been dispatched to the village to discover the cause. Only two of the sixteen that had been sent returned—of those two, only one had lived through the night. She had reported a nexus of magic located at the old Dumbledore homestead. It held the magical signature and intent of Albus Dumbledore—this was planned magic. The respected Headmaster Dumbledore had created a world-ending spell before he died and now it had activated.

Seamus was out there now, fighting the bubbles floating over the world that constantly threatened to pop and release the deadly toxins held within them. Seamus' talent with setting things alight had made him highly desirable for the task of watching the bubbles and burning the toxins if they were released—thankfully fire was an effective weapon against them.

The small image of him grinned up at Dean from a picture, waving joyfully before being swung around in a hug by the Dean in the picture. The Dean who had left behind the carefree days of Hogwarts long behind sighed heavily and slipped the image into his left pocket. He missed Seamus. Every day was full of worry and praying that Seamus was still alive out there.

Communication had broken down a few months after the magic explosion. The air was too dangerous for owls and the wix out in the field and behind the lines didn't often have the magic left to produce a Patronus or similar communication. Even coins similar to the ones Hermione had created for the DA—and how Dean hated that name now that he had more insight to the type of person Dumbledore had been—required magical energy that was needed somewhere else. Team leaders had them, but there weren't enough to go out to every wix.

Dean looked over the same grounds he had just seen in his picture. Hogwarts was, perhaps unsurprisingly, the only safe place from the toxic air. Dumbledore had planned this well. He would have been able to give shelter to those who needed it and they would have been too grateful to question why he was able to defend against the toxins so effectively when no one else seemed able to. It would have solidified his reputation as a powerful wizard and a saviour.

The grounds had changed dramatically. There were tents everywhere—all of them larger on the inside. Fire pits were dotted around, used for warmth, boiling water, and occasionally cooking. The house elves of Hogwarts popped up randomly—either with food or to provide aid in whatever way they could. Hogwarts wasn't a school anymore.

Dean turned and exited the Headmaster's Office where he had been interrogating Dumbledore's portrait for information—the old man mainly twinkling his painted eyes and looking rather pleased with himself even though he wasn't there to play saviour. It was time to share what little information he'd been able to squeeze out of the portrait with the rest of his team and then have dinner before falling into a restless sleep.

* * *

Dean woke up by falling. There were shouts all around him and the air was shimmering with heat and deadly toxins. Dean stared up at the sky uncomprehending for a few seconds before realising what must have happened. Time had stopped meaning anything ages ago, he hadn't realised the day he would swap bodies with Seamus was so close.

"Seamus! Get back up, we need you!" called a voice Dean recognised as Padma Patil.

He scrambled to his feet and tried to get his bearings. An almost invisible trail of toxins was falling down right above Padma and he quickly shot out a stream of fire at it. Padma gave him a thankful nod as she continued dealing with the large bubble that was hovering right above the town they were in.

Pansy, Blaise, Dennis, and Parvati were spread out through the town, each of them in their own pairs of two and fighting back the toxins. Dean was swept up in the situation, jumping from crisis to crisis and somehow averting them all. He didn't have time to be relieved that Seamus was still alive or that he was safely ensconced at Hogwarts at the moment and hopefully getting some rest. All he could think about was stopping the toxins and staying alive himself while also watching out for Padma.

* * *

Seamus went from aiming at the cloud of toxins falling directly at his partner to rolling off the top bunk of a bunk bed. He landed with a thud and groaned softly. A whispered spell lit up the end of the lower bunk's occupant's wand.

"Dean?" Neville asked.

"Seamus," Seamus corrected. "Soulmate day."

Neville sat up and swung his legs off his bunk. "You okay? Is everyone else okay?"

"Yeah, we're all still alive." Seamus was finding the floor of the tent quite comfortable and was considering just staying there for the night.

"You want some tea?" Neville offered and Seamus considered it. He hadn't had a proper cup of tea in ages. Finally he nodded an affirmative and then started the long process of getting off the extremely comfortable carpeted floor as Neville went into the small attached kitchen and put the kettle on to boil.

The drink was heavenly when Seamus finally dragged himself up off the floor and Neville handed it to him. He didn't have to scull it down, for one; he could take his time and savour the aroma, flavour, and feelings that it brought. After that, he climbed up the small ladder into Dean's bunk and curled up in the blankets.

If the carpet had been comfortable, the bunk was like a cloud. Seamus didn't know if that was a good thing or not. It was strange being on a mattress and knowing he could sleep without fear. But Dean's body was used to the softness and Seamus' exhaustion made it an easy thing to drop off to sleep.

* * *

Seamus stared out across the Black Lake and wondered what was happening with his team and Dean. He'd reported all he could to Penelope, and she had thanked him profusely for the intel. Soulmate days were one of the sure-fire ways information could be passed to different groups and information was one of their most valuable resources.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt a piece of paper in the left one. Curious, he pulled it out and smiled softly when he saw the picture of him and Dean enjoying themselves on these very grounds. He had the same picture tucked in a pouch that hung around his neck. He wondered if Dean was looking at it now.

The orange sky above him made his fingers twitch for his wand. He knew he didn't need it though; the toxins didn't enter the grounds of Hogwarts. Dumbledore hadn't extended that protection to Hogsmeade—probably would have made the excuse that such a large area would have been taxing on even his abilities and magic.

Seamus could see the tell-tale shimmer of bubbles hovering just beyond the wards and he itched to go out there. But that would be idiotic. He didn't have his team with him, he didn't even have his own body and he wasn't going to send Dean out on a suicide mission even if he was in control. He knew that a home base team would soon be dispatched to deal with the bubbles, so he forced himself to take the opportunity to relax a little.

* * *

Seamus woke up to the sounds of someone shuffling around in the near darkness. He almost rolled over and went back to sleep before realising that he was still lying on a mattress that felt like a cloud. His eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly. Neville looked up and smiled at him.

"Hey Dean," he greeted.

Seamus stared at him in horror. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to articulate what was wrong. Neville's smile faded as he watched Seamus. He shrugged on a jumper and stepped up the first rung of the bunk ladder.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Not—Not Dean," Seamus choked out.

Neville's face paled. "Seamus? You're still…"

Seamus nodded, feeling faint. While he had been relaxing and enjoying the rare break in fighting, Dean had died in his place. Dean hadn't been fast enough to avoid an explosion of toxins or had been caught in a collapsing building the toxins had eroded the foundations of, or something else entirely. It didn't matter _how_. Dean was _dead_.

His eyes caught his reflection in the mirror Neville had been using to shave and abandoned when Seamus woke. Dean's face looked back at him, horror-stricken and pale despite Dean's darker skin tone.

Neville finished climbing the ladder and sat next to Seamus, pulling him into his arms. They would have to tell Penelope and the others, but that could wait for now. Seamus curled into Neville and felt sobs wrack his body as he felt the crushing guilt and sorrow overwhelm him. Neville just held him closer, rubbing his back as his own tears ran down his face.

Outside, the sun rose and turned the sky its normal orange colour. The creatures safe inside the wards of Hogwarts woke up and started filling the grounds with noise. The tent occupants stirred and started their days, each wondering when it would be safe to venture out into the world again.

Further outside, beyond the wards, the magic cast by Albus Dumbledore continued on its way, ravaging everything it came across unless stopped by one of the teams chasing it. One such team held a brief vigil over two of their own before lighting the hurriedly constructed funeral pyres—Padma Patil and Dean Thomas would be sorely missed, but they would not die in vain. The flames from their pyres would fight the toxins as they had done while they lived.


	8. My Father's Worse Than Your Father

Tony flew down to hover over the square full of kneeling people and aimed his weapons at the green-clad man with a golden-horned helmet on his head. The beats of AC/DC echoed around the square from his speakers and he couldn't help but bop his head around to the music slightly. Then he found himself pulled forward by an unseen force and slamming into the guy he had been trying to apprehend who had also apparently been pulled towards him.

In a moment, Tony's mind raced through all the things that could possibly have caused this. By the look on the guy's face, he hadn't been expecting this so he wasn't the cause. His suit was functioning fine according to JARVIS, so it wasn't that. No one else had been affected so it was localised. And that was when he realised what had happened and he groaned out loud.

Soulmates. He was bloody soulmates with tall, dark, and murderous. He made his faceplate lift up and flicked one of the horns on his newly-discovered soulmate's head for something to do and said, "So I guess we're stuck together. A lot of people have tried to say they're bonded to me so well done on being bonded to Tony Stark, I suppose."

This close to him, Tony could see the man's eyes flickering between a deep green and an electric blue. He frowned as he watched the colour changes, wondering what could be causing the phenomenon and if it was just something alien eyes did. The eyes finally settled on mostly green with a ring of blue surrounding the green.

"You're bonded to a monster. Congratulations go to you."

"Nothing a bit of hacking and cuddles can't solve. Who are you anyway? I only got the basics."

"Loki, son of—" he cut off before saying again, "Loki. I am Loki."

"Nice to meet you, Loki, think you could lay off the making everyone kneel in front of you shtick and come to the super-secret base you would have gone to had we captured and this whole thing hadn't happened?" He waved a hand at them and then the quinjet hovering nearby.

Loki's lip quirked a tiny bit and Tony counted that as a win because, hey, if the bad guy is amused, it means he's less likely to go on a killing spree despite the presence of a soulmate against that stuck to him.

"Lead the way."

* * *

Fury had scowled when he saw the situation Tony and Loki had found themselves and directed them both into the glass cage that he had on hand—ostensibly for the Hulk. He also tried interrogating Loki but Loki wasn't very inclined to talk and he eventually left (annoyed that his threat to drop the cage out of the helicarrier and down to the earth far below did nothing due to Tony's presence in the cage).

Tony pulled out a bag of blueberries from the dedicated compartment of the Iron Man suit and started snacking. He and Loki were sitting on opposite sides of the cage with their feet stuck together. Loki was staring after Fury and smirking slightly as Tony snacked.

Pretty quickly, Tony got bored and threw a blueberry at the Asgardian. Loki's hand flashed through the air to snatch it and he looked it at it suspiciously. Tony rolled his eyes and said, "It's a gift."

"Uh-huh. Or a curse," Loki responded, still scrutinising the blueberry.

"I don't have magical powers, Horns. Just eat the blueberry."

Loki did so. Tony threw him another one to eat and they continued in that fashion until Tony's bag of blueberries ran out. He had more stuffed away but he figured one bag was enough for now. He should probably get to know more about the person the Fates had decided he suited—and possibly try and get some info about Loki's dastardly plan to take over the Earth while he was at it.

"Family troubles?" he asked, very subtly. He had seen the way Loki interacted with his brother—the other Asgardian, Thor—and it hadn't been even slightly close to what he assumed brotherly love was like.

Loki froze. Quite literally froze, Tony was astonished to see. Ice was forming on the other man's body and Tony found himself wondering if all Asgardians could turn their skin blue and create ice. Though, considering Thor had his lightning and thunder shtick, it was probably an individualised thing. Thor had storms; Loki had ice.

"You could say that," Loki eventually said, a few moments after the ice had melted and his skin lost its blue colour.

"I had a rubbish father," Tony offered when Loki said no more.

Loki snorted. "I doubt he could have been worse than mine."

"You wanna bet?"

"My father barely paid any attention to me," Loki said in way of answer.

Tony shrugged. "Neither did mine, I wasn't as important as work."

"Did yours ever punish you for doing things he thought were feminine?" Loki countered.

"When he was around, sure. I remember a time I had long hair and braided it. When he noticed it, he cut it off right away. I was in the care of the butler most of the time because he didn't have time for me."

"My father assigned no one to be my caretaker. I had to either follow Thor around and make my presence known to be cared for or take care of myself."

"That sucks," Tony admitted. "At least I had Ana and Jarvis, they were like my parents even though they weren't."

"My parents aren't my parents." Loki looked like he hadn't meant to say that. Tony rose an eyebrow but stayed quiet, letting him decide if he wanted to continue; eventually, he spoke again. "I discovered I was adopted only recently and that my whole life has been a lie. I am the monster that Asgardians tell their children about. Odin stole me when I was a baby and claimed I was his."

"So that's what you meant when you said I was bonded to a monster." Tony dug into another blueberry compartment and pulled out two bags. He tossed one to Loki—the man deserved a whole bag of blueberries.

Loki caught the bag and stared down at it as though wondering why it was there. "It's what I am. I may look Asgardian, but I'm a Frost Giant."

"Don't suppose that means you could cool down this cage? Heat and me aren't the best of friends since I was kidnapped and held in the desert. I'll give you more blueberries if you can."

"Bribing me with berries, are you?" Loki asked even as the temperature noticeably cooled down and Tony relaxed muscles he hadn't realised were tense.

Tony grinned at Loki and tossed him another bag of blueberries from his stash. "If it works, it works."

He only had one bag of blueberries left by the time Loki's men arrived at the helicarrier to carry out his plan. Loki looked conflicted when the explosion went off. Tony could see his eyes flickering again, the blue encroaching further into the green.

Tony held up the remaining bag of blueberries and said, "Last one."

He grinned when Loki gave a long-suffering sigh—already Loki knew that Tony was an annoying but lovable pest to those he liked after only a few hours of being stuck together—and held out his hand to catch the bag, green overtaking the blue in his eyes once more as he did so.


End file.
